


A Thousand Miles Out Of My Mind

by whispered_story



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, Impala, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:06:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4762757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispered_story/pseuds/whispered_story
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight times the boys run into car trouble. [reposted, first posted on livejournal 8/7/2013]</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Miles Out Of My Mind

When Sam is seven, a tire blows out while they driving down an empty stretch of highway. 

Sam is not quite sleeping, just dozing a little, leaning against Dean's side. He jerks up when the smooth, constant rumble of the engine is suddenly intercepted by a loud _bang_ and the car swerves.

John manages to steer them to the side of the road, cussing and muttering under his breath, and Sam, terrified, is clutching Dean's arm so hard it leaves five perfect small imprints on his skin. 

He sits on the dirty ground that afternoon, watching his father change a tire, and tries not to cry. 

He doesn't take his eyes off John when Dean comes over, not even when Dean starts teasing him about being scared, just draws his knees against his chest and rests his chin on top of them. 

"Dad can fix it, right?" he asks, tone pleading.

"Sammy," Dean starts, voice still light.

"Can he?" Sam interrupts softly, and wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

Dean's expression softens, and he sits down next to Sam. "Of course he can, kiddo," he says. "It's just a tire. No big deal."

"It was really loud," Sam says in a small voice, and Dean nods.

"Yeah, it was," he agrees, before handing Sam his batman action figure, the one he never lets Sam play with. 

"You watch after this for me while I go help dad, okay?" he asks, and ruffles Sam's hair. 

Sam smiles, clutching the figure against his chest.

+

Sam's freshman year of high school, they're staying in a small, rundown house in Paducah, Kentucky for a couple of months. Halfway through their stay there, John leaves for a week to go deal with a coven of witches a few states over.

When he returns the Impala is a wreck.

Sam asks him what happened, but he doesn't get more than a grunt and a muttered, "Accident," in reply, before John hollers for Dean to come help him. 

They have no insurance and barely any money, and John and Dean have been taking care of the Impala by themselves for as long as Sam can remember. Mechanics are unnecessary expenses, John keeps saying. Especially when you have a son who knows more about cars than most mechanics do, anyway. 

That day, John looks tired and worn, and for the first thirty minutes Sam tries to be of some help to them. The thing is, though, Sam hasn't got a first clue about cars, and so he just hands John and Dean tools until Dean takes pity on him.

"You don't have to help, Sammy. Don't you have homework to do?" he asks, smiling at Sam.

Sam shrugs. "Got a novel to read for class tomorrow," he admits.

"Then go read. We're fine," Dean says, and Sam hesitates until Dean gives him a small nod.

Sam goes and gets the novel from his room. Then he sits outside on the creaking, old porch, just a few feet away from where John and Dean are working, afternoon sun warm on his skin. Opening the book, he starts reading, the sounds of tools meeting metal in the background.

+

Years later, there's another accident that totals the car and almost kills Dean.

It's John that dies, though, while Dean walks out of the hospital as if he'd never been injured in the first place.

Sam watches him restore the Impala, working relentlessly, and there's an ache in his chest that won't go away and his stomach clenches with guilt, because part of him is glad it wasn't Dean. 

As much as it pains Sam to have lost his father, losing Dean would have been worse.

+

In the fall of 2007, on the side of yet another road, Dean talks Sam through fixing the Impala's engine.

When Sam is done, Dean looks at him with pride, and Sam kisses him. It's either that or breaking down crying, pleading for Dean to get out of the deal, let Sam go because Sam can't do this without Dean. 

To his surprise, Dean kisses him back. His hand is cradling Sam's cheek, and he tastes like beer and smells like clean, sharp sweat.

They break apart and Dean looks at him with a small smile. He doesn't comment on the wetness in Sam's eyes and the way his breath hitches with every inhale.

It's one of the worst days of Sam's life.

+

A little over half a year later, when the cassette deck stops working, Sam is alone.

He has the cassette deck fixed, and then buys an iPod jack anyway. He pretends he likes listening to his favorite music instead of Dean's stupid, old tapes over and over again.

+

Almost four years after Dean returns from hell, they're stranded in a small town in Michigan when the Impala needs a new transmission and the local garage have to order one before they can fix the car.

Dean is agitated without the Impala parked safely outside their motel room, checking his phone regularly and huffing every time there's no new message.

"They said they'd call tomorrow," Sam reminds him, stretched out on a bed.

"We have stuff to do, Sam. Places to be," he says. "There's a fucking supernatural psycho woman running around, creating new monster children as we speak."

"And there's nothing we can do about it right this second," Sam replies, sitting up. "Give them a couple of days to fix the car, and then we'll be back on the road."

"I just –" Dean starts, dropping his phone back onto the nightstand.

"Hate this," Sam finishes. "Feel unnaturally tense when the Impala isn't within a few feet of you. Despise that someone who isn't you is getting their hands on your car."

Dean snorts.

"Come here," Sam says, giving Dean his best cocky grin. "I'll distract you."

"Sam."

"What?" Sam asks, teasing. "Got a better offer? I think I saw a sign for a bowling alley down the street and all of two pubs. Average age of the people in this town seems to be somewhere around 70, so hey, you might have fun there. Make some new friends."

"Shut up," Dean replies, and stalks over to the bed. He pushes Sam back down until he's lying flat on the mattress and straddles his hips.

Sam makes a humming noise, arching up when Dean leans down to kiss him. 

Dean is right – they have things to do, things that are important, but Sam decides not to think about it until they can actually get out of town. Not when he has Dean and a few hours with nothing to do.

Sliding his hands up Dean's thighs until his hands curve around Dean's ass, he flips them over and grinds down against Dean lazily.

They undress slowly, too busy kissing each other until they're both breathless and their lips bruised. Dean is flushed, relaxed in a way he rarely is, and Sam can't help feeling happy about the Impala needing repair. They don't get moments like these often enough –when they're in no rush to get somewhere, when they don't have to put their own needs aside to save someone else.

Sam opens himself up with slick, careful fingers, small gasps passing his lips more for Dean's benefit than anything else, and Dean watches him with dark, hooded eyes. 

"Would you still rather get out of here as soon as possible?" Sam teases, voice a little breathless, right before he sinks down onto Dean's cock.

Dean moans, fingers digging into Sam's thighs hard enough that Sam knows he'll leave bruises. 

He moves slowly, never taking his eyes off Dean, and Dean rocks up into him with small, erratic thrusts of his hips. Their rhythm is a bit off, the hand Sam has braced on Dean's chest is too slippery with sweat and lube, and when Sam leans down to kiss Dean, their teeth knock together almost painfully. But the burn and stretch of Dean inside him, filling him up, feels amazing and Sam knows he's not going to last long. 

As far as Sam is concerned, it's the definition of a perfect day.

+

In the lab of SucroCorp's headquarters, Dean vanishes along with Dick Roman and Castiel. Crowley disappears not long after, taking Kevin with him, and there's no trace of Meg anywhere either.

Sam is alone. Again.

The Impala is parked outside, smashed through the company's sign, but mostly unscaled.

It's all Sam has left.

He spends days driving, sleeps inside the car more often than in a motel room, and feels like he can't breathe, like he's dying.

+

In Kermit, Texas, Sam hits a dog and prays he didn't damage the car, because Dean is going to kill him if he does. Then he realizes what just happened – that this is a _dog_ , he's injured, and it's Sam's fault.

He takes the dog to a clinic, makes sure he's taken care of, and then goes to check on the car. 

There's a scratch in the paint, and Sam runs his fingers over it and tries to breathe through his tears.

He'll get it fixed. Get the money together for a completely new paint job if he has to. 

Dean will never even notice.

+

The third night after the trials – after Sam doesn't kill Crowley and the angels fall – safely back in their bunker, Sam goes to sleep in the car.

Dean brings him a mug of coffee and a blanket the next morning and doesn't say anything. He just motions for Sam to make room and slides into the backseat with him, tangling their legs together under the blanket.

+

Their first hunt after Sam gets better is a werewolf just outside of Jasper, Alabama.

Sam feels great, happy to finally be up and doing something again. He doesn't even care when he gets thrown onto a street and knocks his head against the hard pavement. 

They take care of the werewolf quickly after that, and Sam just barely manages to convince Dean that no, he doesn't need a doctor and yes, he's more than happy to get back on the road immediately and drive home. He takes a couple of painkillers and downs a bottle of water at Dean's insistence, and then all but drags Dean to the car.

Halfway back to Lebanon, the A/C gives out. The familiar, soft rattling suddenly is replaced by silence.

"Great," Dean mutters and cracks the window open, a frown on his face.

"Just a few hours till we're home," Sam reminds him, and shifts to get more comfortable.

An hour later, the Impala feels like a sauna and they're both down to wearing only t-shirts, fabric soaked with sweat.

"Maybe we should find a motel," Dean suggests, for the umpteenth time, and Sam rolls his eyes.

"We're in Kentucky already. A little sweat isn't gonna kill us."

Dean hums in reply and glances at Sam, brows furrowed. "How's the head?"

Sam rolls his shoulders, moving his head experimentally, and smiles. "Fine. It was just a little bump, really. The painkillers took care of it."

"Good," Dean says softly, and rolls the window down a little further, air blowing over their heated skin.

"Hey, Dean," Sam says, turning his head to face Dean.

"Yeah?"

"Think you can fix this?" he asks, and knocks his knee against the air vent.

Dean's lips quirk up into a smile. "No problem."

"Maybe you can finally get those stupid legos out of there, too," Sam suggests, and Dean huffs.

"Nah. I think they're stuck there for good. Plus, I can probably get the A/C going again without having to open the whole thing up," he says, and throws Sam a quick look. "Might need some help fixing it, though. Someone to hand me tools while I'm working."

"Hmm, I happen to be pretty good at handing people tools. Got years of practice," Sam replies, and smiles.

Dean grins. "Yeah, I think you might be just the right man for the job," he agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Drikin' and Dreamin'" by Waylon Jennings.


End file.
